


Relinquish

by zedtheunicorn



Series: Haunt [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abbadon, Angels, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst, Big Brother Dean, Brother Feels, Conflicted Crowley, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Death, Demon Dean Winchester, Demons, Destiel - Freeform, Evil Dean Winchester, F/M, Fallen Angels, Fallen Castiel, Feels, Ghosts, Hell, Hellhounds, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Irony, M/M, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Men of Letters Headquarters, Original Character(s), POV Castiel, POV Crowley, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zedtheunicorn/pseuds/zedtheunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life doesn't allow breaks, respites, or passes unless paid with blood and the price of a soul.<br/>Read it's predecessor: Haunt http://archiveofourown.org/works/860722?view_full_work=true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To give up is to die

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark one.  
> Nice way to start off a sequel, right?  
> Read Haunt first if you haven't already, otherwise this probably won't make sense

“Ooh, you’ve been tortured before. More than once…I do like ones with experience. Let’s see how long it takes to break you.”

On the eighth night, she finally drew screams from the little thing, instead of gritted teeth and silence. It was then she knew she’d cracked her little bird, the iron rings that held it weren’t shackles anymore. They were the only things holding it up.

                She hadn’t left it alone for a second. The bags under its eyes were first grey, then black, and now rimmed its dull gaze with red. Its head drooped, but it still watched her.

                The wings it had were of a like she hadn’t seen before, at least not in the way each limb bore scars from its own kind. Every mar, every twist on the flesh and bone she replicated, each old wound was to be three more.

                That felt like home as she watched its body try to move away from her, hardly struggling anymore. It had been how the first demons, the knights, had been made. Set against each other, and then every mark was tripled, painstakingly slowly.

                Through primitive, pain drunken pretty eyes, there was defiance, a twisted, weak grin to accompany the damaged look.

                She kind of liked it.

                “Maybe when we’re done, they’ll be enough left of you to make me some new pillows. A duvet, even. Wouldn’t you like that?”

                “You’ll…never h-”

                She cupped a hand to her ear. “Louder,” she hissed softly.

                It took a deep, wavering breath, eyes searching for something behind her. She was well-aware there was no one coming to save it. The little hunters would stay in their little hole, and Crowley…there was no way _he_ would confront her; he wouldn’t send his mutant dog out either. Too afraid the thing would actually die this time.

“Never…h-have…them,” a weak wheeze of laughter escaped its lips.

For a moment she smiled, feeling new tears appear in the flesh she was wrapped in. She held what little facial muscles she had left in the grin, letting them widen. It felt good, almost as if she was free of the weak flesh and back in her own, usual form.

That form couldn’t exist up here. The stinking place didn’t have the heat for it.

“Why would I need them?” Confusion sounded sweet in her voice. She leaned to whisper in its ear, enjoying how it recoiled. “I don’t need apes, not when I have a little bird who sings for me.”

                Demons were boring to torture; most of them were sadistic and enjoyed every slice. They lacked the self-righteousness of the winged lot, the drive they had, the ultimate horror of watching themselves be damaged beyond their capabilities of healing - their own wings being maimed, their true faces torn, and finally, ripping those feathers off completely, one by one.

                Its grace was no longer there, and yet…it was interesting that this one still had wings, still had a true form on this mundane dirt.

                It almost made her jealous.

                She would enjoy breaking this one slowly.


	2. Time's twisting itself away from you

As usual, Crowley liked having distance between him and those he dealt with. Even with his _insurance,_ it was no different. He watched Olivia pace in the small room, glad he insisted on having a hardwood desk and a suitably comfortable chair to sit on.

“So, what can we do about feathers?” She asked.

Crowley sighed, a hand propping up his head. It wasn’t something he’d anticipated. It left a rotten, uneasy sensation in his gut. Cas didn’t deserve to be tortured by the likes of her, it was wrong – like sending a puppy to be filling in a pie factory.

“Providing he’s not mincemeat by now, you mean? It’s a good job you don’t feel responsible, isn’t it?”

She shrugged, looking confused. “I guess it is, seeing as you’re feeling all the responsibility by yourself.”

Anger came back to him like an old friend he’d always trusted to keep him alive.

“Well it wouldn’t have happened if you’d have done what you were told to do! Going for the bitch’s face was suicide!” He bellowed, and then rubbed the back of his neck in the silence that followed.

“I’m sorry that it’s frigging difficult to think when you’re in the skin of a hound you adopt the mind of one! Strategy was the last thing on my mind, Crowley!” She snapped back.

He breathed out heavily, noticing how upset she was. Part of him wanted to tear her to pieces for screwing up, and the rest of him wanted to apologize for her point not occurring to him. He felt utterly compromised.

He allowed himself to nod at her instead. “Well, we have to get him back.”

She frowned. “How?”

“Abbadon’s too busy playing with her food to rally her supporters. They’ll all join me again out of the stagnant boredom she’s left them in. We’ll smoke her out, and take Cas back to the Winchesters.”

She was unconvinced. “So you’ll stay being the King a little longer. _If_ we succeed.”

“Something like that.”

Even to him, the plan sounded shoddy. It was a ridiculous parallel of the angels’ plan to rescue Dean from hell.

That one hadn’t exactly turned out well.

The irony was not lost on him.

Dean was going to kill him, if he ever snatched his marbles out of the hellfire.  


	3. Ignorance on the path of the damned

Sam went weak with relief when Dean looked at him without glazed eyes, his body completely still. For the past thirty-six hours, Dean had been somewhat conscious. Inconsolable. He had screamed himself hoarse about knives and fire and burning flesh, and when he could no longer scream, he moaned and thrashed on his bed.

Sam had been so out of his depth he’d been drowning in fear for his brother. He wasn’t recovering from the trials, the power still there under his skin, it had been difficult to wrestle Dean back to his bed, having no idea what to do. Shouting him down required a conscious, fully functioning brother, and even at the best of times that didn’t work.

Dean had begged to die, over and over.

“Sammy?” Despite the raw croak, Sam was glad to hear his name in an exhausted voice.

“Yeah, Dean,” he sighed. “I’m here.”

Dean frowned, and the fear immediately returned to attack Sam. His brother’s hand came to his face, just under his eye.

It wasn’t until Dean’s fingers ghosted over the skin that Sam felt the welt there, hot and angry.

“Hey, what’s this? What happened to you?” Though his voice was soft, it darkened.

It reminds Sam of fights in high school, the way Dean would immediately see past his lies and go “ _punch the little bastard in the face_ ” for hurting his brother.

Sam tried to avoid Dean’s gaze, and found he didn’t want to try, in case Dean was suddenly caught up in memories and hallucination again.

“Um…you did, Dean. It’s okay,” he said immediately, as his brother’s face turned pale in horror. “You didn’t do much. It doesn’t hurt. Really.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean groaned. “Why didn’t you hit me back?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe because you didn’t know what you were doing? You’d have probably attacked me if I hit you back, and I’m not much good to you unconscious.” Confusion enveloped Sam again as he thought of the way Cas had punched Dean. It didn’t make sense.

Silence as Dean absorbed his answer. “Where’s Cas?”

Sam frowned. “He said something about needing air. Took off pretty quickly, actually. Haven’t seen him since.”

\---

Dean paced the length of the bunker’s hallway, exhausted but unable to stop. He was aware of his skin changing temperatures as he walked, his mind flitting between memory and reality within the space of seconds.

If he kept moving, it would be okay.

Ignoring the screams of those he had tortured, he tried to keep his voice at a normal level, though he had no idea what that was. “Cas should have been back by now.”

The screams stopped, just long enough to hear part of Sam’s reply. “…know, Dean. Maybe he just wants time to himself.”

Dean felt a little calmer. Not because he believed his brother – he didn’t – but because the idea of being able to cope with the memory of hell resurfacing had actually become slightly more believable.

That being, of course, on a scale from impossible to just might swing it with some kind of crappy righteous sacrifice wasn’t really comforting.

“….Dean?”

Dean halted, and turned to see Sam’s uncertain face. “What?”

“Crowley texted me.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Can’t he leave us alone for five frickin’ minutes? Is he  your…therapist or something?”

Sam’s expression soured. “Do you wanna hear what he wants or not?”

The screaming returned, and anything else Sam might have said was drowned out.

“Let me guess, he wants us to have group therapy in the dead of night on one of the many back roads around here where no one ever goes?”

“Dean…”

“Yeah, _no thanks_.”

Dean waved away Sam's protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...Dean...


	4. If you saw you'd be blinded

Cas could only think of Death. He held onto the thought of meeting thereaper again. Perhaps they’d be on better terms. Through the cloud of pain, it was all he could cling on to.

All he wanted was for Dean to be whole again, even if Dean couldn’t get him out before Abbadon tore him to pieces.

Her fingers went dug deeper into his wings, gouging the last of muscle out, nicking the bone. At least, that’s what it felt like.

He wasn’t sure if she’d had taken the flesh out of his wings already. It was difficult to remember.

The horror finally left him, and resignation took its place.

He couldn’t scream anymore. All he could do was lean against the shackles holding him, wishing they’d break so he could just crumple to the floor.

He was so tired.

“Well…this isn’t any way to ignore a girl, now is it? I want your screams, little angel. Surely you can’t be done yet…”

The little flesh on Abbadon’s face had started to rot, a putrid smell filling his nostrils, reminding him of hell.

He had to cling to the notion that the Winchesters were safe in their fortress. At least, they were out of her reach.

Eventually, that thought faded away with the last of his strength.

\---

The bottle of whiskey on the desk in front of Crowley was calling to him.

“How are we going to pry queen bitch from her new toy? We can’t just waltz in there with a few demons and hope she doesn’t notice us sneaking feathers out,” Olivia asked, and Crowley reminded himself she was new to being a demon. Demons didn’t ask so many damn questions.

“Insurance,” he replied. “Since Abbadon tossed you aside like a used tissue, I’d say you weren’t it. Not yet,” he added at the hurt look on the demon’s face. Hurt didn’t belong on the face of a demon, their _real_ face. It was just wrong.

Olivia scowled. “You don’t know, do you?”

Crowley grumbled to himself, snatching the whiskey from the desk and swigging from it, feeling satisfied when it burned its way down his throat. In a decidedly angry manner, he dialled Sam’s phone.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, Moose. Who else?”

“Look, we’re not really-”

“Have you not noticed the continued absence of dear old Cas, or is the trench coat a replacement enough for your brother’s love interest?” Crowley snapped, the very idea of Cas being tortured worrying away at his nerves. It made him uncomfortable.

“ _Did – he just say…love interest?”_

Crowley smiled at that.

“What are you talking about, Crowley?”

He looked at Olivia, noticing the interesting mix of disgust and guilt on her face.

“Cas comes running to me at the crack of dawn, worried out of his little mind, and he never made it back, did he?”

“ _What are you talking about you son of a bitch?”_

\---

Every time Olivia saw Dean’s face, she didn’t. She saw the wretched, tortured hypocritical soul underneath.

So when it was him, opening the bunker door _very_ warily, the smell of sulphur was rolling off him, the way it clung to her.

                If she could have been shivering any more, her battered body unable to stay still, the way the smell surrounded him would have made her worry, and it would have pushed her over the edge.

                “Is it Cas?” Dean asked immediately. For a second, he reminded her of the night she’d met him. The night she’d died. His tone was heartbreakingly hopeful underneath the dread. “Did you get him out?”

                She didn’t blame him for not noticing – or caring – the state she was in. He was too worried about his stinking innocent boyfriend to be concerned about her, the one who’d caused so much shit and had never set it right.

                She waited for the muted gasp behind her, the one she knew was coming.

                “ _Death…”_

                Dean’s head jerked up to meet Olivia’s eyes, trying to search them. “Is…that…?”

                In answer, she moved to the side before he could push past her.

                For a moment, she leant her head against her shoulder, resting briefly. The smell of leather and blood was preferable to the sulphur that wafted past her with Dean’s movement. It took her a minute to bring herself to watch him run to the angel’s ruined body, to fall to his knees beside him.

                “Cas! Cas?” His hands hovered over his friend, unsure where to put them. She watched numbly as he looked for wounds, for broken bones, for anything.

                “ _Death…”_ the angel mumbled, eyes darting and unseeing.

                “Cas?” Confusion added to the concern in his voice. He looked at her for a second, his gaze pleading for answers.

He couldn’t see what she did.

To the hunter, Cas would look dishevelled, exhausted, but whole.

“I tried to stop her, Dean. Crowley left, and he left me to kill her. I failed. Crowley and I barely escaped alive when we stormed the place, but we got him back.”

“What’s wrong with him?” With the intensity of his gaze, it was difficult to answer straight away. Even as a demon…the past could get in the way.

“She gutted his wings, Dean.”


	5. Trap me in a vicious circle, you're worse than a devil's trap

It took Dean a minute to fight back the surge of horror, she could tell. “Tell me what that means.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “What the hell does it sound like? If you’d have come when Crowley had asked you, maybe he wouldn’t be on the boneless chicken menu!”

Dean’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Because we can trust what _Crowley_ has to say, sure! What the hell were you talking to Cas about, out in the open just waiting for the bitch to come and get him? You’re a demon – you have _nothing_ to do with him!”

She shook her head again. “Don’t make this about me, Dean.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were just stalling until Abbadon showed,” he growled.

She gritted her teeth, incensed. Her skin rippled, threatening to change form, but she ignored it. He’d cast their history aside, what little there had been. “Why don’t you reduce me to that, Dean? Your angel is lying next to your feet, crowing _death_ over and over and you want to sit there and point fingers? I didn’t bring him to you so you could do more damage to him,” she snapped.

His expression froze, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Is it safe to move him?”

“Abbadon’s looking to gut all of you and you want to leave him on your porch?”

“SAM!” Dean yelled, not sparing her a glance.

She heard the other hunter’s heavy footsteps, and watched him stop short, shock on his face. “Dean- ? Cas? What happened to him?”

“ _Death…”_

“What…what does that mean? He doesn’t want-”

“Sam!” Dean cut him off. “No! Just…just get him inside, damn it!” Dean shakily stood, a hand coming to his forehead. “I’ll be in in a sec, okay? I have to talk to Olivia.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. She had expected him to run into the bunker with Cas and slam the door shut behind him.

Sam didn’t waste a minute to hesitate, though a fleeting look of confusion crossed his face as he gathered Cas gingerly in his arms, taking him inside without another word.

“What could you possibly want to say to me, Dean? Aren’t you going to tend to your angel?”

He swallowed visibly.

Whatever he was doing, it was taking too long. She was drained, and it was becoming difficult for her to concentrate on keeping herself in a solid form. She half-expected her skin to half dissolve into smoke by now.

“Whatever she did, _whatever_ she did to him, we can fix it…we _have_ to.”

She frowned, and looked at him closer.

She strode towards him warily, close enough to touch him.

When he made no move to push her away, she cupped his face in her hands. He seemed to be searching for something in her expression, and she was sure the proximity was dredging up memories for him as well as her.

That wasn’t what had called her towards him, though. “You can still hear them, can’t you? The screams of those you mutilated? Do you remember what mine sounded like?”

His eyes became shiny with tears that threatened to fall.

“Ifyour angel becomes capable of answering questions, ask him what answers he was searching for when he called us.” Her hands fell from his face, and she stepped back.

“Why do you care, Olivia?” He murmured. “You’re a demon. Why do you _care_ what happens to Cas?”

“I don’t,” she smiled, and turned her mind to leaving.


	6. If there was one thing I was, it was this

“ _Death…please._ ”

When Sam got up to approach Dean, sitting next to Cas, he stood, and made no effort to move away from Cas. He couldn’t stand being away from him, not now.

Cas _needed_ him, whether he could tell Dean was there or not. Or maybe Dean needed him. He wasn’t sure what the difference was anymore.

The distant screaming wasn’t going away, either. For a minute, when his face had been between Olivia’s cold hands, the haunting yelling had ceased. Since she’d stepped away, they had been louder than ever.

He concentrated on Cas’s uneven breathing to keep the screams of the damned at bay.

Dean winced under Sam’s expectant expression. “I know what you’re about to say,” Dean started.

“Dean…if he even knows what she did to him – don’t you think that would destroy him? The guy’s been through too much, man.”

Dean held up a hand, before his brother could say _it would be kinder, if…_

“We can fix this, Sammy. I don’t wanna hear anything else, alright?”

He almost jumped when he felt a hand close around the belt loop of his jeans. His expression wavered for a minute, and he refused to look at Cas’s unseeing, searching face.

 Instead, his hand closed over the angel’s in a sure, trusting grip.

  _Don’t you dare give up._

Squaring himself against his brother’s expression that said _you know I’m right,_ it took everything Dean had to fight the urge of punching his little brother’s thoughts off his face.

 “Dean, he’s begging for _death_ ,” Sam pushed in a soft tone, and it did nothing to ease the meaning behind them. “If he wasn’t Cas, you’d put him out of his misery in a _heartbeat._ Without stopping to think about it, you could live with yourself for doing it. After everything he’s done for us, don’t we at least owe him that?”

_Don’t you fucking dare, Cas._

At first, Dean didn’t answer, his fingers tracing Castiel’s hand in a comforting gesture. Neither brother broke the stare.

“You want to put him down like a dog that doesn’t have teeth anymore,” Dean murmured, recognising the gravel in his own voice similar to Cas’s. “That’s what this is. Listen to me, Sammy, because I’m only going to say this once. _He will pull through._ One way or another we’ll friggin’ fix it, just like we always do.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “ _One way or another?_ Tell me you don’t mean- Dean you’re smarter than this! You _know_ it’s the right thing to do, here!”

In that moment, he realised the only thing he’d ever been was the one who couldn’t give up, the one Cas and Sam _always_ relied on to be stubborn, to never give in no matter what.

He hated it.

“…I need you to leave, Sammy. Go…go trail around in the Men of Letters’ records or something, just…don’t come near this room for a while, alright?” He struggled to keep his voice even, and knew Sam was going to argue.

“Dean-”

“ _Sam_ , I’m begging you. Leave, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're sick of being the constant that doesn't change...


	7. You're not always there to be the thing I can never give up on

In one hand, he held the weak grip of Castiel’s together, in the other, he covered tears that threatened to fall, yet again.

“I know what that must have sounded like,” he mumbled, not caring if Cas couldn’t hear him. He needed to say it.

“ _Death.”_

“It just…it doesn’t fit, man. You keep saying it, and…Sammy thinks it’s what you want, but…” he took a deep breath. “I don’t know, maybe I just can’t let go of you. But it doesn’t feel like it’s what you want.”

He listened to the sound of Castiel’s ragged breathing, feeling the way Cas’s fingers twitched under his. For some reason, the contact had dulled the memory again, and he was glad for it.

“I guess you know by now how my head works, now huh? So right about now, you know I’m imagining your blood on my hands, just like it always is.”

He couldn’t stop the words falling from his lips. “My brain’s making all these sick images, driving your own frickin’ pick stick into you, watching you burn out of your skin, man. I can’t fucking do it. You know damn well. And if it’s not you either dying or begging me to do it – every time I blink, it’s those poor bastards I roasted in the pit. I don’t need this. I _don’t._ ”

The hopelessness had clung to him along with the half-crazed idea that Cas could carry on, a poisonous mix.

 “It’s not…it can’t be what you want. You can’t give up on this, Cas. Don’t give up on _me_. I’m a selfish _bastard_ , and we’ve been through too much. You know exactly what that would do to me, and I know you still give a crap about me somewhere – enough not to want that. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Dean, as touching as this would be to an individual who hasn’t seen the same scene replayed at the end of thousands of lives, I do have a job to do.”

Slowly, the hand fell from his face. “No, no. Not here you don’t,” he snarled, blinking hard to clear his vision.

Death’s expression was a mixture of sympathy and annoyance. He tapped the head of his cane, the pearl ring _clacking_ against it, making Dean wince.

“Quite frankly, I’m waiting on you."

“No, you’re lying. I am not- _you’re_ not-”

Death fixed him with a stare. “You seem to value your-”

Dean frowned, and in the millisecond he had blinked, Death was gone.

He was breathing heavily, sweating. Slowly, he took his hand away from his face, confused.

Cas was looking up at him with clear, exhausted eyes.

“I want you to cut them off.”

 

 


	8. Here's me, never letting go of you once more.

Dean let out a shuddering sigh, sinking to Cas’s eye level, seeing as the angel could barely lift his head. “Man am I glad to see you talking, Cas. You had me worried. I’m going to _kill_ Ab-” Cas’s words finally registered, and he looked at Cas with a whole new horror.

The angel shivered. “Dean…please.”

“Cut what off, Cas?” He said slowly, hoping the answer wouldn’t come.

The angel closed his eyes. “My wings. _I can’t stand it anymore.”_

“Cas! No!” With the fear confirmed, Dean still recoiled in horror as if Cas had hit him.

“It’ll be less painful if you do it. I can’t reach,” Cas continued as if he hadn’t heard him.

“No! Look, I don’t know what that bitch did to you – but we’ll fix it, Cas. _I_ _promise you,_ we’ll make you better.”

Cas’s eyelids lifted, a look that said _I’m sick of your bullshit._ “And what of your problem, Dean? Are we able to _magically_ fix that, as well?”

It felt like Castiel had reached deep into Dean’s mind and ripped out the last bit of resolve he had. For a minute, all he could do was try to breathe.

“That’s not important right now, Cas. We just…we have to concentrate on making you okay again, one problem at a time. Okay? One problem at a time.”

He could see Cas’s patience, along with his energy was fading. “Dean, I have no use for these bones welded to my spine. Because that’s all they are now, that’s what she did to me, Dean. Six skeletons pulling at every muscle every time I move. Dean, even if I _could_ move them, they shouldn’t exist. _I_ shouldn’t exist. Metatron took my grace. There is no use left in me.”

“Damnit Cas!” Dean growled, letting go of the angel’s hand and seizing his face in his hands instead, brushing his rough fingers against Cas’s skin.  Cas’s expression didn’t change, though he felt his own twist into desperation. “You can’t do this. Don’t ask me for this, don’t you do that. Don’t you do that to _me._ Abbadon will burn for what she’s done, I’ll see to it myself, and you know I will make her burn.”

Cas was silent.

“One way or another, man – I will fix this. But I can’t do it without your help, Cas. I need you to want to get back in the game, okay? I will find someone that knows how to fix this,” Dean panicked as he noticed the angel’s gaze slipping from him, his mind surrendering to unconsciousness.

_Death._

Dean lowered Castiel’s head back to the bed, straightening.

He knew exactly what to do.

\---

                Dean swallowed as Death looks at him with cool eyes. “What is it?” He sighed. “If this is another mess of yours-” Death trailed off and appraised Castiel’s body, stopping mid-step.

                “And why would I do this for you?”

                “You said you were waiting on me,” Dean replied, his stomach twisting as Death frowned.

                “That does sound like something I would say, doesn’t it? I don’t tend to spend my time waiting around on protozoa, however. You’re finding it more and more difficult to grasp what’s real and appearances from yours truly cooked up by that scrambled brain of yours.”

                Dean opened his mouth to reply, and found none would come.

 “I haven’t seen damage to this extent done to an angel since Lucifer had his little tantrum with God. Someone really went onto town on this one.”

“…Can you fix him?”

“It’s not his time,” was all Death said. Before Dean could ask what that meant, Death’s eyes flashed to him and back to Cas.

“He’s not a broken toy, Dean. Time alone, as you have guessed since you summoned me, will not heal him.” Death walked forward and held Castiel’s face between skinny fingers, squinting. “With this kind of trauma, his mind is trying to reach heaven for the familiar. Since the gates have shut and the world’s a stranger to him, he’s trapped in a stasis, of sorts.”

“What, what does that mean?” Dean couldn’t help but interrupt, uncomfortable with Death being so close to his friend.

Death turned around and looked at him with annoyance. “Expecting to just appear somewhere does not work with wings that don’t fly. He isn’t the first to have tried, or the first to suffer this kind of damage, but he’s the first to have someone to come to me for help.”

 “Are you saying-“

“He’ll come out of it eventually. Disheartened and disorientated, but that’s not the worst state you’ve left him in, is it?”

Dean grimaced. If he tried to argue, Death could leave. He couldn’t risk it.

“There’s a way to make that boy of yours fly again. Only if his grace is put back, obviously.”

“Are you saying-”

“His grace will heal his body. His _true_ body. Castiel’s grace was taken from him to complete the spell Metraton cast. It _is_ retrievable, unlike those who had their wings burnt away. Without it, those bones of his will remain bones.”

Dean stood a little straighter. _“_ At first I thought he wanted me to kill him, but that’s not what he wants, is it?”

 “The only true angel left in creation not trapped in a box, able to disappear in a moment. There would be a price on his head, and the gate to heaven remains firmly shut,” Death tucked the hand not holding the cane back into his coat pocket. “Perhaps it will make that burden a little easier to bear.”

“It’s what he wants,” Dean murmured. If Cas could get his grace back – he would be okay. He wouldn’t have to struggle every single day. It would be just like old times, _Team Free Will,_ even if Dean couldn’t get his grip on reality anymore, it wouldn’t matter.

“This isn’t a freebie, Dean,” Death said quietly, and the hopefulness that Cas had crushed came surging back, finally. He’d give anything.

_One way or another._

_“_ There’s something I want in return. The next time you die, I will be the one to reap you. It will be the _last_ time you die. You will stay dead, as originally planned when that truck ploughed into that handsome car of yours.” He thought he imagined the brief smirk on Death’s face.

 “So what’ll happen to me?” His heart hammered away in his chest, his palms sweaty.

“Your soul will be mine. You will spend eternity in non-being, and I will know I will not be cheated out of your soul again. There will be no slipping away from me if you choose this.”

_Death…please_

Dean imagined being in darkness forever, not haunted by the ghosts of his past. He wouldn’t see those he had mourned for ever again. Down here or up there. Olivia. His parents. Bobby. Jo and Ellen… he didn’t think his heart could take seeing them up there anyway. They would be the constant reminder of being his fault.

_His presence was poison._

All those he’d tortured wouldn’t get to dish out revenge back downstairs for eternity, no wails of anguish or agony.

Slowly, he nodded.

Death’s lip curved in a small smile, and it was done.

Out of his pocket, his hand opened towards Cas, and closed into a fist before disappearing into the fold of fabric again.

“The angels are better fallen. They will remember the duty they were charged with, now. I won’t have to clear up the mess of their tantrums any longer. Make sure _yours_ doesn’t have one, and we’ll leave it at that, until I come to collect you myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite proud of this one.
> 
> There's a few more chapters to go.


	9. Forever and always you can't keep giving

Dean had utterly lost any concept of time. Sitting at the kitchen table with his head between his knuckles, he wondered when the sun would come up, not that he’d see it in the damn bunker.

The howls of the damned were strangely quiet. He’d gotten so used to it, it was almost not a relief, and that in itself was unnerving. All he could hear was the hum of the fridge and the occasional ticking of the boiler as worked to heat the bunker.

He barely remembered how he got there, trudging through the corridor soundlessly, unable to recall why he’d left Cas to wake up on his own and realise the angel was out of harm’s way.

Sam had known immediately. Of course he had. The instant he’d seen Dean’s face the blood had drained from his. He’d been furious, his words just vibrations in Dean’s ears.

 He recognised terror on his brother’s face, felt his desperate grip possessing his fingers as they dug into his skin, shaking his shoulders, gripping his face.

It was okay.

Dean had always given the strength of his body to protecting his family, and when it served to take the uncomprehending scratches he knew his brother didn’t mean it wasn’t any different from taking a bullet for him.

It was almost an apology for the shitty aftermath Dean’s righteous decisions caused, though they both knew there wasn’t an alternative he would have settled for. It was almost like an addict drawn to a drug, drowning out their own voice so they could live with themselves.

He felt sort of hollow, now he knew how it was going to end.

The only question left now was when.

_What the hell did you do, Dean?_

_You knew if I’d have stayed this wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have let you._

_Tell me what you did, Dean. Bullshit! Cas magically recovers? What the fuck did you do? Sell your soul? Tell me you’re smarter than that, Dean. Talk to me man, please. I left you alone because you begged me to, but I can’t let you do this._

_You knew exactly what I was going to do the instant you walked out of that door, and you did just let me do it._

_You’re right. Always looking for a way out, Dean. I guess I was tired of trying to be there. You got what you wanted._

_There was never another choice, not for this. This- this is my fault, don’t you get it? I’m fixing things, Sammy! One damn mess at a time!_

A hand came down on his shoulder in a sure grip, and it was reassuring to feel something concrete, something he knew he could trust.

The heavy sigh ghosted over his neck when he didn’t respond. Then his hands were pinned to him, by a strong arm constricting his chest. He felt the weight of Cas’s head on his shoulder, the hair brushing his neck.

Slowly, he pulled his hands from his eyes.

Goosebumps rose on his bare arms as the air shifted with the movement, and Dean could almost believe the split second wing shadow enveloping them before it was gone.

“When I escaped hell with you in my possession, I had to fight to keep you from ripping yourself apart. You were too used to pain, destruction your first nature, and I was afraid I couldn’t heal your body in time to put you back in it before you destroyed yourself purely from instinct.”

“That instinct didn’t let go of you.”

Dean didn’t move, and Cas’s hug became tighter.

“I don’t want to know what you did in order to heal me, Dean. I am…doubtful I could live with knowing.”


	10. Rip me away from your blank stare, you were never really there, were you?

Cas heard the bunker door open behind him, and close again. It didn’t matter that he was shivering in the cold embrace of the wind, or that he was finally outside, unable to find a reason to fear the possibility of Abbadon appearing.

She was too busy rallying her forces against Crowley.

The sun was rising, and the metal railings were glinting red in the dusty light. The clouds slowly crawled across the sky, as if they were desperate to be away from the heat.

“Cas, you can’t keep protecting him like this. It’s not helping him,” Sam murmured, his voice broken. “He needs-”

He waited until Sam edged into his vision, the stillness his natural state, his eyes tracking every movement Dean’s brother made.

For a minute, Sam’s gaze was more pitying than stressed as he took in the sight of Castiel’s wings, folded in front of him like a shield.

A shaky breath escaped into the air from the gap between Castiel’s wings.

Still looking at Sam, he shook his head slowly.

 _Not a word._ He projected the thought into Sam’s head. _Sam, I will strike you down where you stand if you come any closer._

The projection was shakier than anything his voice could have carried.

Sam frowned, and stepped backwards, the last thing Cas knew he wanted to do.

Castiel’s arms had gone to sleep, sheltering Dean as best he could. The gesture seemed to help. The muscles between his shoulders ached, unused to supporting his newly working wings, or keeping them outstretched, curling over his body and Dean’s. Since his grace had been returned, they were heavier, no longer the shadows of his past.

They were scarred, though. Some of the feathers would never regain their original shape. His wings were twisted, difficult to fold in now.

Shakily, Dean stepped out of Cas’s embrace, his expression closed off. That was how Cas knew he’d come back to him. He knew Dean hated how his mind was spiralling out of control, and Cas didn’t know how to help.

Nothing would fix this.

He had to hope Sam wouldn’t disregard his warning. Anything could send his mind reeling back into the fever of madness, and each time was a time Cas couldn’t be sure Dean would come back to him.

His muscles seemed to sigh with relief as he relaxed them.

_I’m sorry, Dean. You know I’d help if it was in my power._

He watched Dean’s every movement, looking for a shudder, a change in breathing, a clenched fist. To his relief, Dean was calmer than he’d been for a long time.

Dean didn’t notice his brother, and wisely, Sam made no attempt to get his attention. He shifted his weight where he stood and swallowed, angrily brushing away tears.

“You knew the second you pulled me out, they’d asked too much of me.”

Cas was afraid to answer. He was just so relieved that Dean was _there_ , right in front of him.

Dean turned around to look at Cas, and his gaze was blurred by tears. He blinked to release them, as he’d done a thousand times before in Cas’s presence.

“I could not leave you in the grip of perdition for eternity.” Cas had to look away before the hunter’s eyes could turn pleading. “Someone…so good, left to the dogs of hell, I would have torn heaven down to change it, if I’d known _this_ would be your fate.”

“Don’t you say that now, Cas. You couldn’t have changed it, and I would never take that decision back.”

Cas saw Sam’s head snap up, looking at his brother with such an intensity Cas was afraid it would somehow rip Dean’s failing sanity away from him again.

“We both know how this ends, Cas.”

Cas’s eyes locked on Dean’s, hoping Dean could see the terror in his eyes. Maybe, if Dean recognised it, he wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Cas-” Sam started, and the angel looked to him, terrified, his muscles stilling.

Dean hadn’t heard his brother at all. It was if he didn’t exist for him anymore. After everything they’d given up for each other, the memory of Sam hadn’t survived hell’s torture of Dean’s mind.

It made Cas feel sick.

Sam’s expression crumpled as he realised. His body shook, and he stormed into the bunker, unable to control himself enough to stay.

“Cas, you know when you were writhing on that bed, my brain kept imagining me having to kill you, over and over again. I don’t want it to happen.”

“It won’t.”

Dean shook his head, strangely calm. “I’m not going to ask. I think you know now it’s the only thing left.”

“No. Dean, you said yourself, _one problem at a time,_ and this, this is not the time.”

Cas knew his argument was weak, and any argument when Dean’s mind was made up was sure to fail. He had to try.

He could still save Dean, somehow.

If Dean wanted it.

“I can’t go on like this, Cas. I can’t.”

“This isn’t…” Cas struggled to find words. He had to stay calm, he had to convince Dean there was a way. “This isn’t an answer to your problem.”

“You _know_ how bad it is.”

“You are slated for non-being, and for what, Dean? Don’t you dare. I can’t fix this, for everything you have given. I can’t do anything. Do you know how that makes me feel? Don’t you dare ask this of me,” Cas fought to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t afford an outburst, not when it might send Dean over the edge.

Dean strode over to him, taking the angel’s face in both hands, as if were a desperate attempt to try to convince him.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Dean’s voice was soft. “Every second I’m afraid, unsure of if I’ve just attacked the people I care about the most or not.”

Castiel’s own words came back to him then.

_I can’t pull you out of your own head. Perhaps, you are too damaged to be repaired this time._

Dean was only a human, a hunter who saved everyone he could and killed those he couldn’t. Cas knew exactly what was being asked of him.

_There is no path for you to carry on, Dean. No road for you to take._

“All those things I said –I’m sorry Dean. You have to know I didn’t mean a word of it. Not for a _second._ ” Cas swallowed. Unable to look at Dean’s expression any more, certain it would be seared into his brain forever, Cas pulled him into a hug.

Dean’s face buried into his shoulder, and automatically, Cas’s wings folded over them again.

“Never thought I’d see your real wings, Cas. Except maybe, the few times I thought I’d get a ticket upstairs…I had…an idea that you would be there with me, no matter what.”

Cas’s eyes scrunched shut to stop the tears. He could feel Dean start to shiver, and knew they didn’t have a lot of time left.

“I will be, Dean. In that darkness, I will find a way to you.”

Dean clutched Cas tight, his fingernails digging into the soft skin under where Cas’s wings joined his back.

“Cas,” he choked, his breath coming in short gasps. The angel winced, knowing any minute the memories would attack Dean again, and he would be lost. “You’re gunna have to-”

“I know, Dean. But _I don’t want to_ ,” the gravel left his voice.

“You have to.”

“ _Cas.”_

_It will end bloody, it will end sad._

_I know that every time you do, you hope that you won’t make it out. Why do you believe being disembowelled at the hands of a supernatural creature – ending your life that way is a consolation?_

_It expects you to_ _give_ _and _give__ _until there’s nothing but being tired, man._

And strangely, as Cas felt the vast strength leave the hunter’s body, he knew. In his fractured, utterly irretrievable mind, the only thing that survived the hellfire licking at Dean’s sanity was Cas. It was fitting, in a way, for Cas to be the one to end it. It was as if Cas could still guide him, from pulling him out of the pit, to this. Seeing it through, Dean would have called it. It was the consolation Dean had been looking for.

                He stood, reaching out with his mind, finally acknowledging the points of energy faintly tangible to him. There was still life in the cells of the hunter’s body, but his mind was gone.

                His soul would be forever in Death’s possession, now. He had one condolence – Dean would not be tortured. Perhaps in a few eons, Dean might forget him, their life, the sad life of a hunter, Dean ever existing, and then the hunter could rest, truly.

                Cas was determined he wouldn’t forget a second, enough for the both of them. He kept the memories close, and it was almost as if Dean was right there with him, a hand pressed against his vessel’s heart.

_I think you know it was always yours._


End file.
